


Hold

by Viridian5



Series: Psycho Trip [2]
Category: Weiss Kreuz
Genre: Dark fic, Drama, Farfarello Being Farfarello, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-03-20
Updated: 2003-03-20
Packaged: 2017-10-02 07:22:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viridian5/pseuds/Viridian5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aya gets a rematch with Farfarello and finds out that he doesn't really want it after all....</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hold

**Author's Note:**

> Slight spoilers for "Mission 13: Bruch -- Rain of Revenge."
> 
> Sequel to "Lost" in the Psycho Trip series.
> 
> Because Kasha asked for it. She also did the read-through.
> 
> You know you're in trouble when the most apt song in your fic-writing background music is named "[Bitch](http://viridian.shriftweb.org/100games.html#bitch)." Half of the rest of Pigface's _Easy Listening..._ worked well too.

It had taken weeks to get his rematch, weeks of recovering from his wounds and searching out Schwarz without being too obvious about it. Being naturally laconic, his silence about his last confrontation with Farfarello hadn't drawn his teammates' attention at all. No reason to be concerned about Aya being Aya.

Farfarello saluted him with his sword and blew him a kiss. Son of a bitch. Aya hissed, then sprang, drawn katana first. Even now he took fierce pleasure in the exchange of blows and skills, the grate and clang of metal on metal, the dance and dodge, but memories of their last fight tainted it. Farfarello had taken something simple and pure Aya enjoyed and twisted it into complexity and sickness. The dreams he had now, the way they so often starred a one-eyed demon....

All of this distracted him from his sister's plight. He had to burn the weakness and sickness away, sweat them out like a fever.

"We stroke each other with sharp metal," Farfarello said.

"There is no 'we,'" Aya answered.

"There's only we."

Once again, their engagement had taken them out of eyesight of their teams and put them in a dark alley. Something in Aya's stomach knotted, while something in his mind came loose and free. Coming in close with a slice that Farfarello avoided, Aya punched his side in the area he'd thrust his katana through last time. Farfarello bared his teeth in what might have been a smile as he grunted in reaction, then he punched Aya in the forehead with the hilt of his sword. Aya punched back, skinning his knuckles against some of Farfarello's teeth even through his gloves.

"You made me lightheaded," Farfarello said after he spat blood away.

"That's blood loss, oxygen deprivation, and repeated blows to the head." Fighting this opponent stripped him of his skill and grace and turned him brutal, primitive. He hated that. So why did he feel so free?

~ Well, isn't this interesting? ~ Schuldig's voice said directly into Aya's brain, flowing in a warm stream. It made Aya shudder and shake his head.

Narrowly avoiding being skewered by Aya's katana, Farfarello pressed Aya against the wall and covered him in an almost protective way, although it also prevented Aya from being able to move no matter how violently he twitched. Usually he could break free from such a hold by inflicting pain on his opponent. That wouldn't work here, so he needed force. So far his force wasn't forceful enough.

"_My_ rose," Farfarello said. "Mine. Find your own."

~ God hates sharing. ~

"No, He doesn't."

Schuldig walked toward them and purred, "I just want a taste." As if Aya were an ice cream cone he wanted a lick of. "Aya's so sweet with poison. He hates you, you know, and the way you make him feel, hot and confused and dirtied. He doesn't like pain the way you do."

Whose side was Schuldig on here? Stupid question. The side Schuldig was on was always Schuldig's side, a side of one person. But how much did he know?

"I know everything, Abyssinian," Schuldig answered with a haughty toss of his orange-red hair. "I couldn't read it out of Farfie's damaged head, but when _you_ go into full bloodlust your shields drop and your mind opens like a whore's legs. I wondered what had happened that night he came back half-dead but with a smile on his face."

"Get your own," Farfarello said. He had his knee between Aya's legs, parting them, and resisted Aya's attempts to push him away. He looked and felt and smelled hard and sharp. "Go away. You're making my rose self-conscious."

"You beat the shit out of each other and fuck in alleys, but me watching is a problem?"

"Only the once," Aya found himself saying.

"So far," Schuldig answered with a malicious smile.

Damn it. And Farfarello was thrusting against him a little, even as Aya's hips pushed back in his attempts to get free, like their hips were speaking together but in two different languages. Even if Aya was hard too.

~ You're a poet after all. A poet of denial. It's cute. ~

He hadn't come here for this. He hadn't.

"Don't mind Schuldig," Farfarello said. "He's not like us. He needs to talk, talk, talk."

Aloud, Schuldig said, "I have to compliment you, Farfarello. You cut to the heart of him and found his weaknesses where I failed. Yeah, he doesn't fear pain, so you went for something he does fear."

Pleasure streaked deeply through Aya out of nowhere, and he had to fight to keep his grip on his katana, since his treacherous body seemed to be content to lie back and let Schuldig fuck it from the inside out. It felt so good that it blinded him, even through the horror and rage. He had no control, and his knees started to weaken under the onslaught, making him sag. Farfarello slapped him hard across the face, a welcome reality call.

"Go to hell, Schuldig," Aya spat.

Schuldig stood right behind Farfarello now, lively orange and green to Farfarello's ghostly hair and tawny wolf's eye. "I'll meet you there. You know, you should be nicer to me. At least I'll give you some jollies. Farfarello will brutalize you and you'll brutalize him back until one of you comes or dies. But maybe you want that. You liked that slap."

"Truth is better than mindfucking."

"You want it to be violence so you can say it wasn't sex, but for Farfie violence is always sex. He knows that about himself." Insinuating that Aya was in denial. Again. "My, oh my, I don't know if I'm old enough to watch what he's going to do to you. Last chance to get out of this, Fujimiya. Last chance to be sane." Schuldig cocked his head, as if listening. "No? Fine. Just remember that you had a choice once." He started to walk away, and for a crazy moment Aya really felt like the last vestige of sanity was leaving the scene.

Farfarello licked blood off Aya's forehead. No sanity to be found here, and Aya's bloodlust had dimmed enough to let him think. In his narrow-minded focus on vengeance, he'd erred badly, seeing what their last encounter had meant to him without understanding what his opponent thought of it. He saw now that his battle was Farfarello's foreplay, and the perverted sexplay from last time had been actual sex, not just some act meant to shame him. In his misunderstanding and rage, he'd flung himself willingly at an amorous psychotic. Calmer now, he felt cold to his marrow.

Would saying anything make a difference? Probably not, but it was worth a try. Struggling didn't seem to be getting him anywhere, not against a body that felt like petrified wood. "I don't want to do this."

"Really?" Farfarello put his hand over Aya's hard cock. "You're very funny."

Fighting it would be seen as more foreplay. Not fighting would be seen as consent... or might lose Farfarello's interest. While Aya decided, Farfarello moved in closer and gently skimmed his teeth along the curve of Aya's neck. The gentleness made it all so much worse. Aya would have preferred to be hit.

Life had been ignoring his preferences for years.

"As much as I loved last time," Farfarello murmured, "we might have gone a little too far. I swore to be more careful next time. But you drive me mad...."

Short trip, Aya thought.

~ A poet and a comedian. So many hidden talents. ~

"Schuldig, I told you to stop," Farfarello growled, then backed away and ran off.

Aya stood there stupidly for half a minute trying to figure out what had happened before he realized that he'd somehow gotten a reprieve. He sheathed his katana, then slowly picked up speed as he walked away until he achieved a run.

~ Hey, Farfie, Aya wants you to chase him. Catch! ~

Shit.

Aya had no idea what he usually did that helped keep Schuldig out, so he just tried to work on a moment by moment basis, making no long-term plans. Left. Right. Jump. Right. Speed became a kind of drug, with even the pain it brought feeling good and right.

He saw the moving shadow in time to dodge. Farfarello whooped, obviously enjoying himself.

~ Like looking in a mirror, yeah? ~

Aya ran into traffic to avoid it all. One car swiped so close that it beat the end of his coat and sent it whipping into his arm. The mad, joyful laughter behind him just gave more speed and recklessness to his lunging run once he reached the sidewalk.

When the weight hit him from behind, Aya managed to twist in a way that would let Farfarello take the brunt of their fall. Aya's coat, with its underlayer of light armor, helped protect him, but Farfarello's mostly bare arms scraped across the concrete cruelly. The berserker didn't seem to mind at all, since he didn't feel it.

They both regained their feet at the same time, but Farfarello had his switchblade out. So much for promises of being more careful next time. Then again, last time Farfarello had dug a knifepoint beneath his eye in a threat to pop it out and given him a concussion, so slashing at him might be seen as more careful.

Aya moved the battle into another alley, away from bystanders, since he didn't want to have to make the choice if Farfarello grabbed a hostage. Aya spun in and out of Farfarello's strokes, grabbed his wrist, and beat his hand against a wall until the knife fell loose from the damage given. Instead of struggling to free himself, Farfarello moved closer into his hold and backed him hard against a wall, almost knocking him out but failing to loosen his grip.

But loosening his grip didn't seem to be the purpose here. Farfarello did some kind of arm winding maneuver that reversed Aya's trapping wrist hold, tangling _his_ arm up instead, and also held onto Aya's arm around his neck. Aya tried to get his breath back but couldn't, not with Farfarello pressing and grinding him into the wall.

Aya saw the purpose of it far too late. "We're not doing this."

"Aren't we? It seems like we are."

"Never again."

"Never is a very long time. Lots of things can happen during never." Farfarello rubbed his head against the side of Aya's face. "You're hard again. Or still hard."

To his shame, Aya was. But his arousal came from animal stimulation, friction against a sensitive area. "It has nothing to do with you." Trying to push and twitch his way free just made this look even more like a simulation of sex.

Farfarello laughed. "You're a perfect little child of God. Do you know what I want?"

"I don't care."

"Too bad. I want you to fuck me right here. I can see it. I would be bare, kneeling in the filth in a posture of submission and helplessness that you wouldn't be able to resist. You would grab my hipbones hard, as if they were nothing more than handles, and thrust in, more like stabbing than fucking. So hard, so deep, in and out, in and out...." While he ground himself back against Aya, Farfarello moved Aya's hand over his crotch and rubbed hard, forcing him to fondle his enemy. How could he have so much strength in that smashed hand? Aya breathed hard. "The friction would be incredible, but the way would get slicker once you started to make me bleed. Hmm. So deep, stabbing... you might even make me feel something."

Unable to escape physically, Aya tried to go somewhere else in his mind, but Farfarello's movements kept reminding him of his traitorous body. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stop listening or reacting. He tried to free his arm from its clasp around Farfarello's neck but couldn't loosen the iron grip holding it in place.

He felt nothing, he felt nothing, he felt nothing. "I wouldn't."

"I know. Never. But never changes, and you're halfway there. Nobody else touches me the way you do. Stabbing...." As Farfarello came hard, his head flew back and hit Aya on the chin, which sent Aya's head into the wall hard enough to make him see stars. "Heh. Sorry."

Aya hadn't come. That was victory here. It didn't stop him from feeling sick, but part of that might be from how his head spun from the blow it had just taken and how he'd felt Farfarello's cock spasm under his hand through all the cloth separating them.

Farfarello turned around, held his head, and kissed him almost tenderly, tasting of blood. Gentleness again. Aya couldn't trust it, but any attempts to thrust it aside might lead to more sex.

"Shhh," Farfarello said. "We're all sinners anyway. It's better to be hung for a wolf than a lamb."

Kill me, a part of Aya wanted to say. He remained silent instead and concentrated on holding himself together.

"I'll see you, my rose," Farfarello said, grinning madly, as he let go and walked away.

With his reflexes slowed by fatigue and injury, Aya didn't have his katana unsheathed and thrown until Farfarello had already left the alley. The sword hit the wall with a clang and clanged again as it hit the street, making Aya wince. In the distance, Farfarello cackled delightedly at the failure, no doubt seeing it as another game.

His world grayed at the edges and swaying, Aya used the walls as support as he moved to get his katana. As he bent to pick it up, he saw a flash of orange at the corner of his eye and came up fast, katana drawn, to face Schuldig. Only will kept him and his sword steady through the wave of dizziness.

"What? Is it your turn now?" Aya growled.

"I'm not into sloppy seconds, but thanks for thinking of me. Besides, I got off just feeling you two go at it."

Of course he'd watched the whole thing. The thought of Schuldig feeling... _that_ through his mind made him nauseous.

"Though if you keep this up, you're not gonna be pretty much longer," Schuldig said, his gaze directed at the slightly red mark under Aya's left eye that was a fading memento from his previous encounter with Farfarello, when Farfarello had threatened to pop his eye out with a knifepoint. Foreplay, just like the new bruises and bleeding Aya had now.

"I don't care."

"Farfie might like you better that way."

Aya shuddered, then glared at him.

"And no, I didn't make you do anything," Schuldig said, grinning. "If it had been me at work, you would have dry-fucked him like he wanted you to, then killed yourself with horror. I don't have to do anything to you but watch and laugh. It's one of the reasons why I like you so much." He twirled a lock of his bright hair around one finger. "But if you want to blame it on me, you can try. After all, it's entirely possible that you're exactly the same person you were years ago, before you lost your family and started killing people for money."

Aya refused to let his emotions show on his face, though that might not make a difference with Schuldig, and tried to avoid any thoughts that the telepath might have fun with. He could react later, in private.

"That's a slippery moral high ground you're standing on there, Aya. Of course, I'd prefer it if you and Farfie keep having the kind of violent sex that would make the baby Jesus cry, especially if you angst so prettily about it." Schuldig looked down at Aya's crotch and raised an eyebrow. "Maybe I could do seconds. Just this once. As a favor to you, since Farfarello didn't bother to get you off."

"No."

"Your loss. See you around." Schuldig seemed to blur, then disappear completely. Damned mind tricks.

Aya sheathed his katana and walked toward the street, realizing then that he had no idea where he'd ended up. Not thinking had led him to this. He could react later. Just move for now. Setting off in the direction he thought he might have come here from, Aya started walking again.

Eventually he heard "Aya, what the hell happened to you?" Yoji ran up. "Again with the head injuries. You have to stop running off on your own."

"You're right," Aya answered. When Yoji gaped at him, he said, "Don't get used to that."

Yoji snorted. "You must be all right. Still...."

Aya instinctively slapped away the hands that approached his face, realizing only after the moments of impact that Yoji had been the person reaching for him. No threat. Under Yoji's suspicious look, Aya retreated behind his usual cover of irritability and asked, "What the hell was that about?"

It could be hard sometimes to maintain the Aya his teammates knew, the unapproachable, taciturn persona he'd created so he could slip away to visit his sister without being questioned or judged. Though part of that persona had come out of mourning.... Sometimes he felt trapped by it, but at least his usual ways made them less likely to pry. Yet part of him wanted to be able to show weakness, just once.

She would be horrified by what he'd become.

"I wanted to take a look at your pupils to see if you got another concussion." Yoji's insouciant voice didn't match his focused expression. He might play at being an airhead, but he wasn't stupid, and he could see that something was wrong.

"You don't need to touch me for that." Aya realized that he sounded far too vehement. "I just... I wasn't expecting you to do that."

"You're still in fight mode."

"That makes sense, since I just finished a fight. Can we go home now?" Aya could react to the night's events in the shower, where no one would hear him.

Yoji put out his hands and wiggled his fingers, his message clear. Aya took a deep breath and consented with a fierce nod that made his head hurt worse, knowing that Yoji would keep them out here longer otherwise.

Yoji's touch under Aya's jaw and along his cheekbone felt gentle and steady. And wrong. Aya fought hard to stay still. It horrified him to realize that he didn't know what to do anymore when people just touched him. Being wired, jittery, hard, tired, and injured didn't help his composure. At least his long coat hid one aspect of his shameful state. He wanted to close his eyes or at least avoid direct eye contact, but Yoji needed to see his pupils, so he couldn't do either. Instead, he looked straight ahead and tried to ignore Yoji's extreme proximity and intent gaze. When he unfocused his eyes, Yoji become a surreal blur.... At least Yoji wore gloves, making the contact a little less intimate.

Yoji looked only slightly less suspecting now. "Pupils look fine, but we'll check you out more thoroughly at home. You should take better care of yourself."

He just didn't deserve to. Aya briefly closed his eyes in relief when the scrutiny ended and Yoji withdrew his touch. "I know."

 

### End


End file.
